


Under pressure

by justAleks



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Crying, Desperate Zuko, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), M/M, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex for Favors, Sort Of, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Zhao (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, and Zhao became the answer, the author asked herself how to break Zuko without torturing him, the zuko/zhao is just a small portion of this fic, zuko is bad at coming up with plans that do not include breaking and entering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justAleks/pseuds/justAleks
Summary: Zuko has to fight for everything. Nothing comes easy to him and when after one particularly exhausting misadventure with a broken ship and the crushing lack of resources the boy had to come crawling to a port under Zhao's wing, Zuko comes to a realization that he will have to somehow get more money to fix his ship and restock. The boy stands before a choice. Will he burden his uncle or will he figure out something on his own?
Relationships: Zhao & Zuko (Avatar), Zhao/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 180
Collections: Finished Avatar Fics





	Under pressure

Ursa was kind. She gave her love to Zuko for simply being next to her, for his smiles and laughter. For her, it was enough that her boy was alive and healthy. It was enough that he had the strength to run around and chase after turtleducks. She laughed when he tried to befriend the staff running the palace or when turtleducklings swarmed him, curious why that strange two-legged creature appears beside their pond day after day. It was easy to make her laugh and even the sound was warm and sweet. Like chiming bells on wind. It was never a cruel laugh.

To be loved by Ursa it was enough to be alive and to love her.

It was nothing alike to the love of his father. 

It took him years to fully realize just how different it is.

Zuko was five and started to understand that to be loved by his father, he had to prove himself to him first. So he tried. 

And tried.

And _still_ tries.

And has no desire to stop.

Azula was born screaming her head off. In the middle of a day, when Agni’s light shines the brightest — the time all great firebenders have been born. Zuko was born in the middle of a night, in winter no less, under Tui's soft gaze, a time the fire folk was the weakest. 

From the very start, the girl managed to catch their father’s attention and she never stops as well.

Zuko was six and he presented his father with a handful of fluttering flames but the man had his eyes set on his baby sister gleefully punching out wisps of smoke. Her laughter was shrill and loud when he scooped her into his arms and boasted at how young she was, how young but brimming with power. The sheer joy at being picked up by their father prompted her fingers to light up with sparks. 

Zuko had started producing smoke not that long ago, he knew Azula’s fire would rise very soon. He cheered her on and didn’t realize the bite in Ozai’s voice whenever he mentioned how late _Zuko_ was. 

It set a precedent. 

Azula was quick to pick up bending. Her fire burned bright and strong. Her stances were perfectly rooted and she didn’t need to be shown thousands of times how to do certain katas. When she stumbled, she caught her balance right off. 

Whatever she did, it looked _effortless_.

Ozai puffed up with pride while watching his daughter, his eyes sparkled, his face would smooth out. He was proud and everybody knew it, he made sure of that. His child inherited great power.

Zuko had trouble with bending. His fire fluttered, his breath caught in his throat. It was easy to throw the boy off-balance and he needed constant corrections. Zuko never did anything right. He struggled with the simplest things his younger sister mastered months before him. 

Ozai frowned at his son whenever the boy was in his line of sight. It took him only a few months to forgo coming to Zuko’s practices. He was obviously too busy to witness the shameful struggles of his firstborn. A year into his training, Ozai ordered the reports on his son’s firebending training to be stopped unless the boy made a great improvement.

A year and a half passed and he changed Zuko’s firebending tutor.

Sifu Guotin’s patient corrections and gentle voice were replaced by Sifu Zhong’s harsh words and brutal pace. The change in training methods did nothing to make Zuko into even a fraction as good as Azula and that invited even harsher sessions.

Zuko would run himself ragged to make his father proud but Azula always beat him at everything. She was ( _is_ ) better, stronger, smarter. She was ( _is_ ) the apple of Ozai’s eye. She burned so brightly, their father didn’t notice anything else. Now, her fire burns a blinding shade of blue, hotter than even Ozai's own.

However, Zuko managed to catch the attention of his mother and Uncle. His cousin was always ready to spar or play with him and he had unending patience not to snap at Zuko when he inevitably failed. 

It’s him who suggested to Zuko picking up cold steel. They tried many a-weapon until Zuko got his hands on Dao blades. It was love at the first slash. 

The metal was cool and heavy in his small hands but the prince kept on practicing with Lu Ten in sub rosa. In his childish mind, the prospect of surprising Ozai with already developed skill painted itself as a great idea. 

The secrecy shielded the boy from people witnessing his many failures as well.

When the blades started moving how Zuko wanted them to, albeit, in simple stances, he presented his dance to Ozai. Proud and confident, he slashed the air and moved with fluidity Zuko never knew he even possessed. Firebending still felt alien to him. Forced and suffocating, but the blades sang to him with every move. 

Zuko finished and bowed, first to his father, then to Lu Ten who came with the little boy. The cheer that started to leave Lu Ten’s mouth was cut short by Ozai’s cold stare. He asked the older boy to leave them alone. 

The small sparring room, Zuko had chosen to use as the stage for his presentation, lost its coziness as the man loomed over him. The boy felt the stifling heat fill every nook and cranny.

Zuko was confused, but the pride at being good at something blinded him to the storm building on his father’s face. 

“Have you no shame in swinging mere steel? Have you no shame in staining the glory of firebending by haplessly waving common folk’s toys?” The disgust in his father’s voice froze Zuko’s fire. He tried to defend himself but Ozai was already leaving the room. The lack of punishment suddenly felt even worse than hot hands or cutting words. Like Zuko became such a failure that Ozai gave up on correcting him. Like there was no more hope for the boy.

The tears pouring down his cheeks were boiling hot against his chilled skin. 

Lu Ten did not hide his outrage when Zuko recounted what had happened and dragged the still sniffling boy to Uncle Iroh. The man didn’t share his son’s rage but instead offered them a cup of tea and asked Zuko to show him the sequence he had prepared. The boy sniffled, fresh tears filled his eyes at the gentle eagerness of his Uncle and smushed the hiss of his consciousness railing that Ozai deemed Zuko’s infatuation with weaponry as shameful. 

Uncle Iroh was an honorable man. If he wanted to see Zuko swing his blades around, it must not be as bad. Maybe it’s just Zuko’s lack of skill staining the beauty of Dao blades moving through the air with a soft whoosh of air and light glinting in the metal. Maybe his father could see a spark of hope in his boy's newfound love in steel, if Zuko just got better. 

He didn’t give up. Despite what his father said, Zuko felt he finally could become _good_ at something and he used any opportunity to train with his blades.

He trained and trained to prove to his father that it was not a waste of time, to the point he had finally been sent to train under master Piandao. 

In hindsight, it was his father’s attempt at discouraging Zuko’s infatuation. Master Piandao, while never cruel, was certainly a teacher who had no problem in dismissing a student if he thought they were unworthy. 

But as always, Zuko was too stupid and stubborn to realize it was expected of him to stop playing with peasants’ toys when Master Piandao scoffed at a firebender wanting to fight with swords. Zuko was stubborn and refused to leave, until the swordmaster saw his dance. The raw desperation made the man reconsider his unwillingness and soon Zuko was moving in to start his training. He didn't understand the subtlety of his father's intentions. He was simply too stupid to back down when he was told to do. If anything, the future approval of Master Piandao and the glint of pride in his teacher’s eyes cemented in Zuko the hope that, if he just _never_ gives up, somehow things will work out.

* * *

The boy exhales the cold air and feels salt in the back of his throat. 

_Never give up and things will work out_ , echoes in his head, as he stares at the vast dark sea. He shudders, as a gust of wind sneaks under his armor and clothes and, as if on cue, his stomach growls demanding something more than a damn rice cracker with a spoon of jam, washed down with some blend of tea, Zuko didn’t have the mental capacity of distinguishing, eaten the previous day. 

There is a headache circling somewhere in his skull, building, and building up until it will start to claw at his brain and try to push his eyes out of their sockets. 

He feels so lost and small.

He feels so tired and hollow.

Not giving up had taken them sailing through one empty lead after another. Through storms and hostile waters. Through one shortage of food after another. Through the ship’s technical failure after failure. Through at least one attempt at mutiny that Zuko knows about and probably more that he doesn’t. 

He still wakes up to the slightest creak outside his room. 

He still sleeps with a knife under his pillow, even though they dismissed the rebellious crewmates at the nearest port, after stopping them. 

His Uncle tells him that it will never happen again, that the crew that is left is loyal. That they will not lay a hand on Zuko. 

But the boy knows they are dissatisfied with him on a good day. 

The boy knows they do not care for him. That the loyalty is not towards Zuko but towards The Dragon Of The West. He is not that blind, nor that deaf, nor even that stupid. 

They rebel in the tiniest ways — had been for so long that they mastered the art of making his life even harder in the most inconspicuous ways possible. Every time they are given any order, they do the bare minimum. They are sloppy just enough, that Zuko cannot punish them too harshly. They know that above screaming and threatening, he won't do much. That he is too soft to carry out drastic punishments and latrine duty lost its effectiveness after the first three months. They can't get demoted any lower, unless it's to be kicked out from the navy. But Zuko needs his crew. He needs every last of those lazy bastards because they were the only ones assigned to man this ship. He does not have much of a choice in men, even if they are one bad day away from another try at mutiny. He needs his skeleton crew to capture the Avatar even if he is the only one actually trying.

They couldn’t give any less crap about accomplishing his goal, even if they tried.

Even his Uncle does not care for finding the avatar. The thought leaves a bitter taste in Zuko’s mouth. 

When he woke up on the ship and saw his Uncle sitting next to his bed. When Zuko was told that Iroh decided to accompany him on his banishment and the (wild goose-duck) chase, the boy felt grateful. He thought that Uncle will help, that the old general will lend him his wisdom or strength or whatever. He hoped for it, even when it was becoming more and more clear that for Iroh, the chase was just a prolonged vacation. 

He still wants to hope, but the reality is a bitch ready to slap Zuko across his face time and time again until the boy will stop fooling himself.

He wants to go home and forget about the hell of herding and controlling crew, that does not want to be herded and controlled by a banished brat prince. 

He wants to finally catch the avatar and present him, trussed up and even adorned with a spirit damned bow, to his father. 

He wants the man to look at him as something else than a failure and shameful excuse of a son. 

Above all that, he wants to have enough money to replace their broken cooler and restock their food supplies. 

However, for now, a simple docking in the nearest port and smooth cooperation with merchants there is enough to satiate him. 

It is still too much to ask for, though, if the letter telling him that the Yellow port does not give them permission to stop there is any indication. They have to focus on resupplying the fleet — the letter says. Zuko’s ship will have to try their luck with the port under Zhao’s jurisdiction. The one in Tiger-Shrimp bay, the one still at least a week ahead of them.

He remembers that their coal is also running low even with the use of firebending to keep the flames from eating through it too soon.

The list of expenses is getting longer and longer but their money is vehemently disagreeing with it.

Zuko wants to scream or cry or _both_ at the helplessness pulling at his limbs and making them lead-heavy. He fans his inner flames and tries to find enough anger in himself to keep the despair at bay, but the only anger he can find, is the anger at his father and _that_ is something he doesn’t want to even think about. 

The situation he found himself in, the lack of resources, the small crew ready to mutiny if angry enough, the rust-eaten shell of a ship that floats only because their engineer is too stubborn to give up and, at this point, keeping them afloat is a matter of honor is all _his_ doing. Zuko’s father is just, _has to be_ , and he _had to_ punish his son for being a failure. The man is a Fire Lord, he cannot coddle his useless son with loans or charity when he has a war on his hands. 

Their first mates’ furious rants, that the man has enough money to use as kindling in the boilers of his newest battleships, that could absolutely destroy their rustbucket if somebody decided to ram into them, makes the excuse flutter and dim, like a candlelight in a storm. 

Zuko can feel Agni’s face slowly approaching the horizon. He closes his eyes and lets his chi strain towards the sun. He feels it waking up his fire and filling up his body with warmth, Zuko didn’t even notice he lost. He sits at the top of the conning tower, a place where nobody will even try to disrupt him, and soaks up the sun rays that start caressing his body. 

For a moment, Zuko allows himself to pretend that everything is fine. That his crew is not ready to start another mutiny out of helpless anger that their captain is useless and cannot even get them to dock, when they need it the most. Everybody is hungry and tired. Everybody is bitter that their vessel has a temper even worse than Zuko and likes to break down in the most inconvenient ways possible.

Like a broken cooler in the middle of a sea, with no friendly port to stop at in sight, which resulted in their meat going bad and their fruits and vegetables acquiring additional legs and wriggly habitants.

It didn’t take too long for his people to ignore the additional source of protein in their fruits and veggies. It wasn’t the first time and, just like before, it took Zuko a bit longer to get used to not seeing the wriggling while eating, but their meat situation spurred him to lose about 90% of his perceptiveness during mealtime. 

Their meat was two steps away from starting to run once again and the cook was caping himself in trying to prepare edible food. He was losing that battle but Zuko discovered the man was as stubborn, as a man from the very heart of Earth Kingdom would be. Suddenly, the muddy gold of his eyes, the sheer size of him, and demotion over a few small mistakes made much more sense.

For the first two weeks, the crew was considering refusing the food more often than not, until refusing meals became an actual surviving strategy. Then they took up a new diet, consisting of tea and preserves. A spoonful of a persevere on a rice cracker a day, to be precise. 

Keeping the fire from eating through coal while being that hungry helped them figure out who in their crew was the closest to be a master firebender.

The number wasn’t exactly high.

Zuko also realized that his Uncle was old and that old people were more fragile. The stress was piling upon him. He started imagining himself with gray hair just to get used to the prospect.

Three weeks in, even their cook gave up on playing god and creating edible food from new and hostile civilizations that took over their broken cooler. 

Zuko never, even in his wildest dreams, would think that a day when he thanked Agni for his Uncle’s worrying love for excessive shopping would come. At least, they had different blends of tea to choose from. 

Finding small joys in the suddenly bleak reality became a new sport on the deck. Its popularity defeated even the music night. 

To no one’s particular surprise, Uncle Iroh was an unbeatable champion in it.

A shriek of a message hawk tears Zuko out of his musings. He looks up in time to spot their hawker getting his hands on the bird and plucking out the, hopefully positive, answer from Zhao. Zuko swings himself onto the helm’s balcony to get the message from Bong’s hands after the man climbs the tower in a hurry. Their helmsman peers through the glass, the crew members milling about on the deck look up, and Zuko is made aware just how eager all of them are to get the positive answer from Zhao. 

“Get the Lieutenant and my Uncle” Zuko orders Bong and enters the bridge, Chin-Hae — their officer of the watch — is already preparing the maps as if it could becharm the answer to be a green light for them to dock at the Tiger-Shrimp port. Zuko doesn’t wait for the men to arrive before he unravels the note. 

He reads the neat handwriting and his shoulders sag. Chin-Hae exchanges a worried glance with Helmsman Doh.

Before Zuko finds his voice again General Iroh and Lieutenant Jee arrive at the helm. They look at the serious faces of the two men and Zuko’s sloped back and they immediately prepare for the worst.

“Did the Commander say yes?” Uncle Iroh's voice rings from behind Zuko’s back and the boy finally takes a deep breath. Agni, their luck is as wicked as it can be. The sly Commander is probably laughing himself sick over their misery at that very moment. The amount of pompous assurances that Zhao is ready to help his prince to the best of his capabilities crammed on the small paper makes it painfully easy to imagine the saccharine sweet voice laced with poison pontificating the words to his face, while the man leans over him. With the next inhale Zuko can almost smell Zhao’s breath.

“Chin-Hae, we need the shortest route to the Tiger-Shrimp port,” he says and the atmosphere in the helm immediately brightens. Uncle Iroh claps his hands together and says something about spirits and kindness. Zuko doesn’t listen to him, he feels lightheaded with relief. They are really stretching it thin and the Tiger-Shrimp Bay was their last hope. If Zhao had felt especially cruel the murmurs of eating one of their komodo rhinos would cease to be only grim jokes and no amount of Zuko’s yelling, threats, or arguing would stop the angry men, what is more, he wouldn’t be even able to keep arguing against eating the oldest animals. He is a brat but not a monster — pointlessly starving his crew is out of question no matter how soft of a spot he has for the thick-skinned beasts. 

The boy knows for a fact that some of their crew started looking longingly at any piece of leather in their line of sight. With a vision of actual food that does not want to kill them, either while trying to prepare it or after consuming it, the animals can keep on eating through their hay (Zuko prays that at least that will not need any unplanned restocking) and the banished prince can sleep soundly without worrying that come morning the old Shabu Shabu will greet him as dinner.

He will take Zhao’s snide comments and creepy leers without as much as flinching if it lets them restock and fix the damn cooler. The man is awaiting them at the port, the letter says, and Zuko can bet his phoenix tail that only a natural disaster would stop the commander from greeting them in person so he would bask in Zuko’s failures. 

There is just one more thing to worry about. He doesn’t even need to ask Duyi, who keeps an eye on their finances, to know just how… little there is. They already had this conversation multiple times — each one ended with frustration and growing helplessness. At least, the dire situation taught him that Duyi can keep his mouth shut if the need comes crashing down their heads. The whole crew knows their finances are thin, but very few of them know just _how_ thin.

Zuko looks around the helm — Chin-Hae and Doh have their heads bowed over the map while figuring out the best route for them to take, one that will allow the old rusty Luan to conserve the coal but still reach their destination as quickly as possible. His Uncle still wears that smile full of relief and Zuko crumples the letter in his hands as the resolve to somehow deal with the money situation floods him. 

He can always go and steal some, Tiger-Shrimp bay has enough rich people living around it that Zuko could go through their properties and muster up enough money. Probably. He’s not sure how long it would take them to realize the scale of the robbery. Would the repairs and restocking be done before the angry mob realized the suspicious connection between Zuko’s ship docking at their port, the amount of work it needs, and the sudden influx of thievery?

Uncle Iroh’s excited chatter about what he will eat after he sets foot in the port draws the boy’s attention to him. Zuko looks over to the old general. The man probably has enough savings to lend them for the necessary expenses but Zuko cannot stomach asking the man to give him even more than what he already did. Uncle Iroh should be resting somewhere in Caldera, not roam the seas in search of a legend. It’s all Zuko’s fault the man is here, hungry and tired and the boy will be damned before he lets the man sacrifice even more for his good for nothing nephew. Besides, it was Zuko's mission. Uncle Iroh shouldn't even be there with him. It was expected of the boy to deal with such problems on his own. 

Zuko will find a way to pay. 

There is no other option for him.

He squares his shoulders and pointedly ignores Lieutenant Jee’s looks. The man first glances at Zuko and then glances down at Uncle Iroh with one brow raised but the banished prince shoots a glare his way. _Not a word_ — his eyes say and he thinks he can hear Jee’s armor creak a tired but otherwise accepting sound. The man's face, however, tells Zuko he is a royal brat asking for trouble. Memories of the group of resentful men twice his size, wielding weapons, and stalking to his room in the middle of the night flash before his eyes. 

Zuko straightens his spine and tries to look Jee down, miraculously, the man is in no mood for butting heads with him and allows the old general to talk his ear off instead of pointing out the rhino elephant in the room everybody either ignores or genuinely forgot about. 

Zuko thanks the spirits that Uncle Iroh does not have a head for finances. The prospect of real food must have blinded him to the amount of money they lack and the staggering amount of expenses that absolutely have to be covered. Zuko will take it as a sign he is in the right in withholding any pleas for help directed at the man. 

“Prince Zuko, we have the most optimal route prepared but first I would love to ask our Eigneneer for her input.” Chin-Hae straightens his back and bows towards Zuko, the boy takes the accidental diversion with a smidge of relief and expresses his approval with a nod. 

“Then do it immediately. If anything comes up I will be in my room.” Zuko bows shallowly to his men, shoots one last warning glare at Lieutenant Jee, and stalks out of the helm, Zhao’s letter still clutched in his hand. The pressure behind his eyes is startling to grow claws and scratch at his brain. 

“We ought to inform the crew about Commander Zhao’s generosity.” Uncle Iroh calls after him and Zuko waves a hand at the man.

“Then you can do it, Uncle. You have a much better way with words.” Zuko turns his head towards the general but keeps on walking. The man exhales but the overall tiredness caused by the lack of food stops him from trying to use this moment as a lesson in people skills. 

Zuko walks down the creaking ladder onto the deck and can feel the eyes of his men burning holes in the back of his head. Nobody even tries to appear busy and Zuko once again is crushed by the realization just how crucial it is for him to deal with the vicious ship and elusive money. He squares his shoulders and looks each man in the eye, most of them hold his gaze, and Zuko is once again catapulted to the wretched night two years ago. He thanks the spirits that Zhao loves watching his misery up close more than he loves bestowing it on him from a distance. 

“Uncle Iroh has an announcement for the crew, make sure everybody who does not need to be on duty turns up on the deck immediately.” The men bow and some move past him to fetch the rest of the crew. Their pace is one step away from a run. 

Zuko is much more mindful of his steps when he heads inside the ship to his quarters. Once the door closes behind him, however, nothing can stop his breathing from quickening and his mind from turning into a jumble of half-formed worries, plans, and frights. His inner flame surges and the temperature in the room immediately rises. Zuko drops the letter before he accidentally sets it on fire. He paces the room for a moment, too worked up to sit down and start meditating and lets the panic swell in his chest. The cheer of his men filters through both the roar of blood in his ears and the door and corridors separating him from the crowd. It is enough to put a stop in his frantic thoughts for long enough that Zuko starts to control his breathing once more. He unclasps the straps to his breastplate and shimmies out from the armor. The arm guards land with a clunk next to it and Zuko feels like he can breathe once again without the metal surrounding his body. The room’s temperature shot up so much he can feel sweat slowly breaking out on his forehead. 

The boy paces the room one more time and settles himself in front of his altar. With a flick of his wrist the candles light up and Zuko closes his eyes to meditate. He focuses on the three specks of warmth and makes his chi claim them. The fire responds immediately and starts rising with each inhale and lowering with exhales. The familiarity gives enough solace that his breathing returns to normal.

His mind is still running a mile a minute though, scattered thoughts flit between worrying about how his men will react when they discover they don’t have enough money to both restock and repair the cooler, especially since the coal also needs to be replenished. With the men hungry as they are and angry at the circumstances, Zuko knows he won’t be able to take anything off their wages to add to the general budget to help cover the expenses. He could as well strap the useless cooler to his legs and jump overboard if he as much as breathed the concept to his men to avoid getting speared in his sleep. They would make a spectacle out of it to gain money and cash on their banished prince's idiocy. The money they get is _theirs_ and Zuko would have to literally sell them something valuable to gain their coins, he has no right to just take it away from them. 

Zuko opens his eyes and scans the room in search of something worth selling. The barest bare minimum of his belongings laughs in his face and the fire flickers. His eyes catch on Zhao's crumpled answer and an idea sparks to life in his head.

An idea as revolting as it is stupid. 

He may not possess many _things_ but he still has other… “options” at trade.

The commander is not subtle if even Zuko caught the meaning of his leers. The boy is shocked he has enough balls to telegraph his desires as clearly as he does. His skin crawls every time the man breathes on him, every time his eyes linger on Zuko’s body just a second too long, just a few centimeters too low but now it starts to color itself as an alluring possibility. Alluring and terrifying.

Zuko shudders. He pushes the thought away from his mind and focuses on other options.

He could demand that Zhao covers their expenses, he promised to help after all. The man presumably doesn’t know how dire is their financial situation and showing that much weakness is giving him an upper hand but, Zuko realizes with growing trepidation, it is possibly his only choice to repair the ship, restock their supplies and allow his Uncle to retain his retirement money intact.

But Zhao is a slimy bastard who will not do it for free, whispers the more realistic part of his brain.

The revolting plan is back at the forefront of his mind as Zuko realizes how… doable it is 

They would need to be discreet and Zhao already offered them dinner after their docking so they could chat and rest some, while his crew does their job. Uncle Iroh will undoubtedly take him up on it — it is a grand free meal, after all, Zhao would undoubtedly want to rub in their faces how better he fares even on a deathbed. And besides all that, it is a wise thing to do — agreeing when a powerful political figure asks for your company during a meal, so Zuko doesn’t need to worry about finding a reason to meet up with the commander in the first place. 

Finding a moment to talk in private, while out of character for Zuko, should also be doable. Ultimately, somebody will have to supervise the men and after a hearty dinner, Uncle Iroh should be in a good enough mood to be talked into the task. 

Zhao’s silence on the matter is a given. The commander can get away with looking at Zuko like that — looks can be interpreted in many ways — but even a man with his position and contacts would face dire repercussions for sleeping with another man if it reached the ears of wrong people. Zhao may not be subtle, but he is far from being outright stupid. He would not jeopardize his career, even if it painted Zuko as a dumb whore. The satisfaction would be his and his alone, the commander would not dare to gloat about fucking Zuko to anybody even if goaded into it. 

It is so easy to scheme all that, that Zuko doesn’t know how to feel about the sudden possibility anymore. The plan is a child’s play compared to anything else the boy may come up with, as long as Zuko ignores the part where he opens his legs for Zhao. It is so easy he can feel his hackles rise.

 _Nothing_ comes easy to him but apparently, the old method of plowing forward no matter what proves once again that, with enough stubbornness, fate will present Zuko with just enough kindness that he will survive.

The boy exhales and a shudder runs down his spine. He stares at the candlelights dancing to the flutter of his heart.

He has one plan ready, now, he can try to come up with less drastic ones like just talking Zhao into paying, yes, that also sounds doable. Zuko is his prince, after all, banished — yes, but it won’t be permanent. Zuko _will_ one day come back and be greeted by his father, and his honor _will_ be restored and Zuko _will_ be once again in line to the throne. Zhao has to know that and sucking up to people in power is the man’s _instinct_. They have five days to reach the bay, he can come up with a speech or something. 

When he emerges from his quarters to get his portion of rice crackers the crew is in a much merrier mood. People regained a certain spring to their step. Excited chatter fills the mess when his men daydream about full meals. 

The cook even smiles at him, a wide sharp smile on a face that reminds him of an armadillo bear but his eyes twinkle and his voice is warm and booming when he greets his brat captain and presents him with their dinner. 

Zuko wonders what tale his Uncle spun out of Zhao’s simple agreement to host them. The boy looks at his cracker adorned with a small (smaller than the last time) dot of moon peach jam and he realizes that the prospect of a dinner with the commander, fills him with giddy joy. He is hungry and weary enough that his mind plainly refuses to focus on whom he will be trying to make a deal with. Even the sole fact he _has_ a plan to lean on if the man refuses to be civil and wrangled into paying by words alone, makes his shoulder sag with relief. He walks towards Uncle Iroh who took upon himself the job of supplying them with tea.

“A new version of the blend I’ve been concocting for the past three days,” the old man smiled at his nephew while pouring him a cup. “Maybe I will get it right in time to treat Zhao to it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Zuko takes a small sip, wondering if he will be able to distinguish what types of tea his Uncle mixed in this time and with a faint disappointment realizes that the beverage is getting better and better in taste. The small, childish part of him wanted to see Zhao gag.

“It’s good,” he compliments and ducks his head when Iroh beams at him. 

The cheerful atmosphere of men unaware of the money problem all around him, drives Zuko back to his cabin to intermix sulking and scrambling for better plans. He roots through his scroll collection, glad to have borrowed (with no intention of returning whatsoever, but that is a minor detail) some theatre scrolls while hunting for leads. At least one of them should have some hints on how to talk Zhao into lending him money, right? He scatters the scrolls all around him, scanning one after another in search of anything even remotely helpful. The familiar rustle of paper soothes the beginnings of the headache, as Zuko squints at the characters too small for his eyes — was his vision always that bad? He quickly ignores the uncomfortable thought. He can't help reading through his favorite scenes when he stumbles upon them even if they sometimes stray far away from his goal.

The time starts flowing around him, unnoticed and silent like a viper-widow.

* * *

The bigger the port becomes on the shoreline the more nervous Zuko gets and the happier his crew grows. The urge to twist his fingers or pluck at his sash or just find anything to do with his hands and get rid of even a fraction of nervous energy wriggling through his veins and filling his belly with swarms of ant-roaches grows even quicker. At last, he opts to grip the railing of the helm’s balcony with all his might, in hopes of appearing like an actual captain rather than a boy trembling with a mixture of nerves, fear, and million other emotions churning in his guts at the mere thought of meeting Zhao. The pure shitshow of trying to wrangle him into paying will become a goddamn legend. 

The anticipation made everybody that much eager to be done with their usual tasks and ready to step down the second they anchor, that they bundled Zuko up in his armor in record time and way before it was even needed. Now, the boy has nothing to do except waiting. In the corner of his eye, he can see Lieutenant Jee inching closer to the entrance to the tower. The pit in his stomach grows. 

Zuko did not come with any better plan than whoring himself to Zhao, if the words fail him. Stealing would bring too much attention, asking Uncle is out of the question, and even if he managed to cut the crew’s wages and took their money a mutiny would be the least of his problems. They simply do not have _enough_ money. The fact that it hadn’t become such a problem before is a miracle. 

Zuko resolutely ignores the dread that comes with a mere thought of wrangling people at the port to sell anything to them, outside of their scheduled stops. Supplies are always running low every time Zuko’s crew has to limp into the nearest Fire Nation friendly port to restock on something. His nerves are frayed enough as it is. The boy will worry about people after he gets the money.

The soft creak of the door opening behind him makes Zuko flinch, he turns his head to see Jee walk through the door, the wind carries the friendly chat between him and their helmsman to Zuko ears — something about food once again. When the door closes the easy smile slips from the man’s face as he regards Zuko with growing ire, the boy squares his shoulders.

“Sir, I’ve kept my mouth shut as you asked but we are almost at the port and we absolutely do _not_ have enough money to cover all the expenses, Duyi is going grey from worry at this point.” Zuko wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, a pain that had been circling around his head for a few days now pushes at his eyes. 

“First, let the men eat. Nobody is to even breathe about restocking or fixing the cooler. Food comes first, tell them that. Whoever gets caught rambling about our situation ends up on latrine duty or gets saddled with night watches for the next few months.” Jee’s face scrunches up.

“Sir, the men might be more docile once they eat but the news will not be warmly welcomed nonetheless. I do not intend to dictate how to run this ship but wouldn’t it be better to-”

“Then shut up!” Snaps Zuko, he directs a scathing look at the man who bows to him but keeps frowning at the floor.

“Yes sir, my apologies.”

“I will take care of the money,” slips past his lips and Jee’s eyes snap to him in confusion.

“Sir…?”

“It’s none of your business _how_ just… keep the men preoccupied until I tell you we can take care of our ship and everything.” Zuko hates the searching gaze the older man directs at him. He feels as if the man already knows what Zuko is up to. For a moment, one crazy moment Zuko wonders if Jee could give him some pointers on how to get fucked by Zhao and not get hurt. He is not deaf and can hear his men talk often enough to get the picture of all kinds of sex, but bawdy tells are probably different from reality. The boy bristles and banishes the thought. He will figure it out when push comes to shove.

“... Yes sir.” Finally, Jee forms flame with his hands and marches back towards the helm. Zuko turns back to the shore and closes his eyes for a moment, now, there is no way back. He has to convince Zhao, one way or another. 

The rest of the way he focuses on his breathing and the sun shining down on him and the hum of the sea. Even the prattle of his crew. Everything to keep himself from bursting from the nerves.

The port welcomes them way too early for his comfort.

“Ah, I see the weather was in your favor, I heard that a storm is circling around the bay but the Luan looks… fine. Can I ask what exactly brings you here so unexpectedly?” Just like Zuko predicted, Zhao greets them in person. The boy clenches his fists trying to rein in anger. The commander knows why they are here. His Uncle included it in the letter, albeit in few and vague words. The bastard just wants to hear it once again.

“Fate, commander Zhao, it is all fate.” His Uncle chuckles while stepping down the gangplank. Zhao’s eyebrow twitches at the answer but he doesn't press for a more elaborate answer. The conversation does even before it has a chance to truly start.

For a moment they stand in silence interrupted by the bustle of the port. Zuko watches as his men swarm the closest food stalls, all too happy to see anything edible for it to not be suspicious. The commander notices it too. Zuko wants to throttle every single one of them when he catches the gleam in Zhao’s eyes. 

“So, commander. You mentioned in your letter a dinner” Iroh's voice breaks the silence and Zuko is stricken by the desire to turn tail, load everybody onto his ship and sail away. Or sail away alone. Either one works just fine to him. 

The need only grows when the gleam turns into glee. The man already knows they are not faring too well.

“Ah, yes, indeed. Follow me.” Zhao turns and heads toward his behemoth of a ship. Zuko hates that ship on principle he could easily wager his phoenix tail that it does not need repairs every month. 

Zhao orders his people in short, barked out words to bring the prepared meal to his quarters, all the while not even breaking his stride. Zuko looks wistfully at how easy it is for the man to command his people. The boy would have to scream his men into obedience and even that usually doesn’t promise they will listen. And do their job perfectly. The bastards cut corners wherever they can because they know damn well Zuko will not physically harm them for it. 

He is aware that they are sloppy to piss him off for all the shouting but Zuko screams himself hoarse because they are slacking. No-one is going to back down and the cycle will continue until Zuko’s voice is gone. Probably even longer, he will find a way to compensate for lack of sound.

Zhao opens the heavy door to his quarters and Zuko once again squishes the ugly feeling that rears its head up at the sight of the sheer size of the room. 

Zuko’s quarters are the size of a cote in comparison. Just one more reminder of how older, cheaper, and plainly worse his vessel is. 

The boy tries to brighten himself with the thought that at least the rusty Luan can outspeed the giants anytime they have enough coal to spare and a deficit of patience to deal with Zhao’s sneers and boasting. It is always good to keep his helmsman in top shape when it comes to outmaneuvering bigger ships. Zhao just makes it extremely easy to encourage his men for a moment of easy compliance. 

They sit down around a low table, an ornate teapot is already resting on a rack over a burning candle, and Zhao grandiosely pours them tea in equally ornate cups. Golden dragon dances on each and Zuko has an urge to steal one just to make the set incomplete and Zhao irritated. Uncle Iroh beams at the commander.

“Ah, ginseng — my favorite.” The man smiles after a sip and keeps the cup clasped in his hands as he starts exchanging pleasantries with Zhao while Zuko tries to stomp down on his irritation and nerves and bring forth calm. He sips his tea and almost grimaces. Uncle’s is far superior. 

“I’ve heard that the stop was prompted by some slings and arrows caused by your ship” Zuko tunes in just in time to meet Zhao’s piercing gaze as the words slid down his tongue coated in a layer of sweetness so thick it almost masks the venom. Almost. 

“Of course it is just a matter of time the ship breaks down again but isn’t it a second time this month? Aren’t you worried it will sink one of these days with both of you on board?” The mockery of concern makes Zuko’s fingers itch from the heat pooling in them and the boy welcomes the hot anger almost with joy. For a moment it smothers down the nerves. He bites his tongue to not snark at the man. Let him boast and poke fun at them all he wants, Zuko needs the commander in a good mood to make him pay.

“The old lady must have felt underappreciated and now gives us grief for that, nothing a short stop at your port will not help with,” Iroh waves his hand in a vague gesture but definitely not an annoyance for which Zhao hoped. The last time, their propellers broke and that ate a huge chunk of their funds. They had to be hauled to the nearest port by another ship. Zuko refused to leave his quarters the whole time in order to wallow at his shame alone and in peace.

“Must be tiring to rely on such an outdated vessel.” Zhao muses and looks around the room. ‘Not that I know anything about it’ says the gesture.

“She may be old but Luan is still a brilliant example of Fire Nation craft,” Zuko butts in before his Uncle manages to swallow the tea. He is not exactly wrong, the fact that the vessel is still sailing is proof enough of his statement, but Zhao doesn’t need to point out that Luan is the last of it’s kind yet to be decommissioned and it needs constant maintenance to keep afloat. Zuko wills himself not to blush. 

“She has a character, that is for sure” Uncle Iroh grabs the teapot and repours them tea all smiles that hide steel behind the jovial old-man act. Zhao looks at him and straightens his back remembering that poking a dragon is never a good idea, even if said dragon grew chubby and lazy over time. 

A quick knock on the door breaks the sudden tension and one of the soldiers marches in with a tray full of food. Zuko momentarily zeroes in on the dumplings and his mouth water. 

Agni, he is so hungry, he won’t be able to eat even half of what he should. A quick glance at his Uncle confirms that the man realized that as well.

Zhao will have a field trip with today’s amounts of misery and failures Zuko brings to the table. 

The man hurriedly puts the tray down in the middle of the low table, bows, and scurries away. Zhao gestures at the dishes. Steaming rice that is still in the pot it was cooked in, gyoza, agedashi dofu, nikujaga, sekihan, miso soup, ochazuke, grilled fish, wakame salad, and kinpira. It’s not exactly a grand meal, everything is portioned surprisingly sparse given it’s Zhao who is hosting them, but there is enough food that would fill up any man. 

Zuko wants to weep over the fact he won’t be able to stomach as much as he’d like but puking on Zhao’s carpet (as tempting as it sounds) would absolutely kill him with shame. 

Uncle immediately reaches for the ochazuke and there is something weirdly endearing in the unfiltered joy on his face as the man makes sure that the dish was made with tea, not pure water. Zuko knows that some of the dishes were prepared as twisted jokes only understandable by Zhao but he cannot bring himself to care. 

There is a growing amusement on the commander’s face as Zuko grabs a bowl of miso soup and spoons a bit of sekihan into another. His stomach is mercifully silent even as he has to constantly swallow the saliva gathering in his mouth. 

Spirits, he could cry if he were only with Uncle. Food! Actual, tasty, fresh, and heavenly smelling food!

Zhao puts into his bowl a hearty portion of nikujaga, adds some roots onto a smaller plate, and smirks at Zuko over chopsticks holding piken meat. Zuko wishes the man chokes. Zhao nods his head towards gyoza and the wish becomes a prayer.

He eyes the dumplings longingly but his traitorous mind conjures up the memory of their hostile meat sporting its own civilizations and all desires to munch on gyoza flee him. Instead, Zuko reaches for a cube of tofu and adds it to his tiny meal. Zhao's amusement is a tangible thing as Zuko stares him down while slowly chewing rice. 

The boy feels especially proud that he maintains a civilized pace instead of polishing his bowl clean faster than Zhao could bleat “help yourself”. His Uncle hums around a spoonful of ochazuki and, after a moment of silence, decides to continue conversing. 

Zuko has a feeling it is more to help him eat slowly rather than maintaining a friendly atmosphere. 

“We truly are grateful for your hospitality, commander Zhao,” Uncle Iroh starts while reaching for gyoza. Zuko barely stops himself from gaping. The old general is truly a formidable man if he will be able to bite into the meat-filled dumpling. 

“It is the least I could do for the members of the royal family,” The man waves his hand nonchalantly, and Zuko tears off a piece of tofu and stuffs it into his mouth before a snort has a chance of escaping. Slimy bastard. At least the food is good. Great actually. He eyes his Uncle biting with a crunch into the dumpling. 

Zuko lets the man take care of the conversation and is thankful that during the two years out at sea and frequent encounters with Zhao, the old general became a master at deflecting any attempts at engaging Zuko in conversation by the commander as long as the boy stayed put. 

Anytime Zuko is left with Zhao alone, something is set on fire, either during or after their encounter. 

Zhao keeps shooting him glances and tries, again and again, to bait Zuko into reacting, subtly enough that Uncle Iroh won’t call him out on it but the boy is dead set on not getting into any unnecessary squabbles. Not now at least, he wants to conserve his wits for _later_. The uncommon silence awards him with worried glances from his Uncle and Zuko starts answering with clipped words to some less infuriating questions. Mostly, he focuses on his meal still in the bowl. Zhao has moved to the spirit damned dumplings while an idle chat stretches between him and Uncle. Iroh skillfully circles around trivial topics and doesn't let the man take too much control over the conversation. Zuko feels smug when Zhao starts frowning. 

"Recently I've taken up tea making and I do not mean simply brewing preexisting blends, commander. I've started creating my own. Such an interesting experiment it is. I've drunk plenty of tea over the years but to mix and match the leaves to create my own? A long process of trial and error. However, I must admit I am getting better. Our crew can attest to that! They were gracious enough to test out my creations." Uncle rambles on slowly going through his bowl. 

Zuko starts wondering how to broach the subject of a private talk. He eyes the food that still sits on the table and then the one in his Uncle’s bowls. The man is almost finished. Zuko glances through the window but all he can see from his position is the blue sky. His men should be finishing their meals as well. The boy sits ramrod straight as pure fear grips his stomach.

How many of his crew members disgraced themselves already? How many stuffed their faces too much to stomach it? 

Zhao’s lips quirk up when he notices Zuko’s panic.

“Something’s wrong, my prince?” he asks with mock worry. Zuko glowers at him. 

“No, commander Zhao, nothing’s wrong I just… I just remembered that my crew… “ Zuko bites his tongue before the stupid muscle lets him utter ‘my crew might be bringing shame on my name and acting like total morons either because they are a bunch of idiots or don’t care what people think as long as they can make _me_ miserable’. Zhao would fucking glow like the sun from pure joy after something like this. 

“Is there something wrong with your crew?” Wheedles the bastard and Zuko wants to either bash his head at the table or his own. 

“Ah, yes. Good thinking prince Zuko,” Uncle Iroh puts down his bowl and looks at his nephew. Then he smiles at Zhao. “The crew might be starting to work on our ship. Having somebody overlooking their eager work does sound like a good idea. You know, commander Zhao, the men are full of vigor and might get carried away.” The man even winks at Zhao as if that was an absolutely rational statement. Zuko has to work extra hard at keeping his face neutral while nodding. The boy seizes the perfect opportunity before his Uncle’s own zest carries him too far.

“Yes, Uncle, exactly. Commander Zhao will surely understand why you have to cut the meeting short.” Uncle's smile freezes on his lips while Zhao’s eyes widen. Zuko sips his already lukewarm tea. 

“Yes…” the old general says slowly as he looks at his nephew. Zuko schools his features into something neutral.

“You know Uncle, that when Luan’s crew gets too _enthusiastic_ they are more likely to listen to you.” The words clog his throat but Zuko forces them out. Uncle Iroh's face softens when he translates the words into ‘I’m tired of wrangling that hog-monkey circus, now it’s your turn’. At least Zuko hopes it is the meaning his uncle guessed. He knows it is definitely not the meaning that Zhao guessed. He steels himself for a new barrage of barbs and sneers.

For the rest of the dinner, Uncle Iroh holds himself stiff and his jovial demeanor cracks slightly. Zuko refuses to feel guilty. He's doing it for his Uncle and for his crew. 

When Iroh starts talking about the ship once again, Zuko realizes his grave mistake. 

The man will immediately see his crew to start fixing and resupplying. Something they still don’t have money for. The boy wants to howl as dread seizes his gut. He looks at Zhao humoring the old general and pretending to listen. His eyes, however, are constantly stealing glances at Zuko. The boy swallows down a hysterical laugh at the realization that _now_ there is no room for him to fail. Whatever Zhao will demand in exchange, Zuko will have to agree. 

The boy wants to bash his head open on the low table.

He truly is just a stupid brat.

He sends a prayer to any spirit willing to listen, that Lieutenant Jee will keep a grip on the men and find a way to stop Uncle Iroh from actually doing his job at supervising his crew until Zuko comes and gives them the green light. The man does the bare minimum required from him on good days but Zuko hopes he is in no mood for dealing with mutiny after weeks of hunger.

When the old man cannot stretch his stay any longer he bows to Zhao, thanking him effusively, and looks at Zuko in the way the boy is yet to fully interpret. He always looks at him like that when Zuko does something that has high chances of blowing up in his face. The look never stops him, but always makes his gut churn, as if Zuko ignoring the look is something shameful. 

The boy bristles.

"Go on, Uncle. I have one more thing to discuss with commander Zhao." Zuko does not like the worry that immediately replaces the look in his Uncle's eyes. He's not so weak that he needs a chaperone at his side whenever he wants to talk to people with power. The bristling increases.

He tells himself that the sagged shoulders and worry marring his Uncle face, making him look even older than he is are just his eyes playing a trick on him. Zuko’s eyesight is not what it used to be, after all. 

The man bows again, utters another barrage of thanks, and clasps his hand on Zuko’s shoulder on his way out. He looks older than when he stepped into Zhao's cabin.

The clink of the heavy door sounds like a boom of blasting jelly. Zuko looks at the door a second too long, draws in a deep breath, and straightens his back. 

Time to face Zhao. 

Zuko does not want to face Zhao. 

He turns toward the man, who sits silently and watches his every move. 

Calculating, predatory. Silent. 

Zuko almost jumps up when a loud rasp on the door cuts through the silence. 

“Sir? Should the dishes be cleaned?” One of Zhao’s men asks through the closed door, his voice muffled. The commander looks at Zuko before his gaze slides down to the plates. He inclines his head towards them.

“Are you done, my prince?” He asks and Zuko wants to say no.

“Yes.” The boy puts his bowl down and positions his chopsticks on top of it. Zhao smiles. 

“Yes.” He raises his voice so the crew member can hear him.

The door opens and the same man that brought the dishes steps in and sweeps them quickly and efficiently. Zuko thinks back at the motley of unruly men in the dock and glares daggers at the obedient soldier. 

The man finishes his job visibly sweating and slinks out as silently as it is possible with a tray full of clinking dishes. 

He finally looks at Zhao who smiles and pours them more tea. The silence grows and stretches over them, ready to snap any moment. Zuko sits tensely, while his mind trips over itself trying to come up with a way of starting the wretched conversations. 

Zhao looks over his cup at Zuko, the shadows falling on his face make the man look like a cunning fox spirit. The boy keeps eye contact not wanting to break it first. You do not show weakness in front of predators. The man’s lips quirk up in a pleased smile.

“There is a reason behind your compliance, my prince” He purrs and Zuko feels virtually naked. A thought that the man saw through his plan flits through the boy’s head. For a moment he wants to disagree but what comes out of his mouth is different.

“There is a reason behind everything.” It’s something that Uncle Iroh could say with all the conviction and wisdom of an old man. Zuko just sounds like a boy not wanting to admit Zhao’s right. The man’s smirk grows.

“Yes, yes there is,” he plays along. Zuko busies himself with his tea. The nerves are back full force and are gnawing at his stomach like a starving pack of vulture-coyotes. Zhao’s silence unnerves him even more. Zuko can almost hear Azula’s laughter at his incapability to act like a proper prince. Zhao should not be making him nervous. Zuko should be able to look the man in the eyes and demand he covers the expenses of the repairs and restocking. She would not have any problem whatsoever. 

Father was right to banish him.

Zuko is a pitiful joke of a prince.

Anger boils his blood.

“As you know, I and my crew encountered some troubles when it comes to Luan’s condition.” Zhao’s eyes glint with the reflected light. Zuko presses on. “Unfortunately the last repair work cost us a considerable amount of money. Commander Zhao, as you generously offered your help I must ask you to cover the expenses of today’s work. I do not need to remind you how crucial it is for the Fire Nation to capture the Avatar and since I already am tracking him, I need my ship in a condition allowing her to depart as soon as possible.” Zhao’s smile is made of knife-sharp teeth. Zuko knows he has made a mistake.

“My prince, I did indeed offer my help, however, I am but a humble commander, our gracious Firelord is sure to be a better fit as a person you should ask for help. After all, he is the one granting money for the war effort and it’s in his might to decide whether or not lending it to _you_ shall come before the front lines’ needs.” Zuko feels his cheeks heathen. The bastard knows perfectly well that Fire Lord Ozai’s focus is directed at the war, not Zuko’s banishment. Zhao knows Zuko is supposed to be self-sufficient. 

The bastard _knows_ he would never ask his father for more generosity than what he already got. 

“Ah, but you are an honorable son, aren’t you?” The honey-sweet tone makes Zuko’s skin crawl. “Such a big boy, trying to deal with his shortcomings on his own.” Zhao muses. Zuko doesn't want to make himself look any weaker but Zhao clearly awaits for Zuko to offer some sort of a deal. The boy clenched his teeth as the man pours him more tea — the saccharine sweet smile still on his lips. Zuko has a feeling he is bartending with an actual spirit. They always talk in circles and wait for the human to offer something first. A willing sacrifice. 

"And you are an honorable commander sitting in front of his prince," he grounds out. 

A mistake. 

The sweet smile gains teeth.

"Banished prince, sir" Zhao almost singsongs. "Banished prince on his quest to regain honor. Tell me, what good would it do to you if people were to bend to your every whim?" 

Zuko does not want to make a willing sacrifice. He is not willing. He does not want to be the one presenting the offering.

Words rise in his throat but it is so tight not a single syllable is able to squeeze out.

Zhao's eyes are on fire, his teeth are razor-sharp and bared in a smile. Zuko suddenly remembers that only humans smile to show positive emotions. Any other creature on earth shows its teeth as a threat. A part of him wants to snarl at Zhao, to show him he is not the only predator here. His fire coils and rises, flowing through his veins.

“And that state is only _temporary_ , commander Zhao, I suppose you’d want to be in good graces of your future Fire Lord.” Zuko can feel fire licking at his throat but Zhao looks like he heard a brilliant joke, not a sound argument.

“Ah, perhaps I would,” he muses, the infuriating smile still ghosting over his lips. “It would be a grant achievement to help one’s future ruler defeat the greatest enemy of their nation. However, my prince, there is one condition you are missing.” The man raises his finger to emphasize the words. Zuko glares at the commander.

“Am I?” The words are like broken glass, sharp and brittle under the pressure of anger. 

“Yes, for you to become a Fire Lord your father would need to _want_ his son back, my prince.” 

The fire in his throat rises, licking at his gums and tongue as Zuko snarls at the man.

“My father does want me to come back! He sent me on this mission _knowing_ that I _am_ capable of bringing the avatar to him in chains!” He shots up to his feet and knocks his knees at the table. The cups clink.

Zhao tuts, “Ah, there is the ill-temper. I was starting to worry about your health, my prince. You were so docile throughout the meal I thought a great sickness has overcome you. However, I suppose it was just mere hunger. Tell me, my prince, if your father had wanted you to succeed, would have he given you the flotsam you call ‘ship’?” 

Zuko clenches his jaw, the last weeks without food, the pressing matter of money, the past three years of constant battle not only with his crew but with the ship encourage the treasonous thoughts circling his mind like hungry wolf-tigers. Zhao smiles victoriously.

“You aren’t as stupid as you act, think for once.” The man’s voice becomes a purr, vicious and slick with poison purr. Zuko wants to close his eyes and cover his eyes just to stop it all. Stop Zhao spouting such nonsense. Stop his mind from picking up on it. He regrets ever coming to this man for help.

“Ask yourself these questions and answer truthfully, my banished prince,” Zuko cannot stop looking at Zhao’s lips as the man continues. “ Does your father want you back? Does he care enough to want you to succeed?”

“Yes.” Zuko hisses through clenched teeth and Zhao tuts disappointed. 

“I told you to be _honest_.” Zuko grits his teeth, as smoke comes out from behind them along with his next exhale. He stares Zhao down but the man looks relaxed and smug. 

“He _does_ want me to succeed” Zuko growls. Zhao shakes his head with a tangible disappointment like Zuko is a particularly dumb student. 

“Your spirit is as admirable, as it is infuriating, my prince. Let us try a different approach, if you are so sure that your father wants you to succeed, Prince Zuko. Why are you here of all places? Why do you need to beg a commander for charity, instead of writing to your gracious father?” Zuko doesn’t register when he shots to his legs the second time. Sparks come flying from his mouth, as the leans over the table to loom over Zhao.

“I am not _begging_ for _charity_!” Zhao’s brow raises as his eyes glint maliciously. 

“Yes, of course, you are right, my mistake, Prince Zuko. Let me rephrase it. Why are you here of all places instead of owning a fully functioning ship, capable crew, and money? Why were you sent to chase after a legend with a hunk of rust and motley of people whose only option for further demotion is becoming beggars on the land?” 

Zuko seethes.

He can feel his fire bubbling to the surface, heating his blood and palms and breath. Zhao smiles at him, smug like an owl-cat that just caught the fattest elephant-rat. 

“Exactly, my prince.” Zhao purrs once again, unbothered by Zuko looming over him and literally smoking from held back anger. “But suppose I feel exceptionally generous. Suppose I want to go behind my Fire Lord’s back to help his banished son. What will I have from it?” 

Zuko freezes. 

Zhao’s smile is sharp and cunning. 

A smile of a predator.

“Something from it?” Zuko echoes. Numb even if he knew that the bartending would come to this. Hours spent on thinking and planning and fretting were for nothing because now, faced with the man and with the offering lodged in his throat Zuko freezes. His mind is blank. 

“Yes, you are in no position to make demands, my prince. Everything has a price in the _real_ world. What will you give me in exchange for help?” Zuko takes a step back and finally kneels at the table. His hands grasp at his knees, hidden from Zhao’s view. 

He makes himself look Zhao in the eyes. With back ramrod straight and hands fisted in the fabric of his pants Zuko takes a deep breath and spits out words scratching his throat like broken glass. _Now or never_ , rings through his mind. The boy is sure that if he wavers for as much as a second he will run away. 

“I am perfectly aware of the looks you are constantly giving me, Commander Zhao,” the man’s eyes rake over Zuko’s body as if to prove his words. “And we are both perfectly aware of the repercussions that await you, commander, were those looks be turned into actions and those actions resurfaced among the wrong crowd.” Zhao’s eyes darken. Zuko’s grip on his pants is so strong it’s a miracle the material is still in one piece. The boy plows on, “However, as you just stated — everything has its price. The price for my silence would be you covering _all_ the expenses of today’s repairs and restocking.” 

Zuko feels lightheaded. 

When Zhao stands up, the boy follows suit, his heart is trying to broke free from his ribcage and his knees feel like they are made from rice paper but Zuko wills them to hold his weight and not take a step back from the approaching Zhao. The smile and twinkle in the man’s eyes are predatory. _Dangerous_. 

“Ah, so trade it is,” the man muses. He stops just a few paces from the boy. “Frankly speaking, my prince, that is the last outcome I’ve expected from you.” The words make Zuko’s stomach fall all the way to his heels. 

Did he have a better option?

He feels a wave of nausea wash over him. The rush of blood almost drowns out Zhao’s voice.

“The offer sure is a tempting one, a silence for some coin.” Zhao steps closer, Zuko squares his shoulders and looks up to keep the eye contact. The man touches his cheek and Zuko almost bites the fingers off, he clamps his jaws down to stop the urge. Zhao’s smile grows, showing a hint of his own teeth. He leans down, so close Zuko can feel his breath ghosting over his lips, “It’s a deal, my prince.” The man murmurs before kissing the boy. 

Zuko jerks, his arm comes up — to hit, push away or grip Zhao — he’s not sure but before he can fully process what is happening the commander catches his arm and pins it down. The hand that was touching Zuko’s cheek slides further to cup his skull and guide the boy’s head to a better position. 

“I will cover the expenses, but for now you are _mine_.” All fight leaves Zuko’s body, for one ridiculous moment, the boy feels relieved. Weeks of fear, of scheming, of panicking came to an end. He leans into the kiss, surprising both himself and Zhao. The dread he felt takes a back seat, pushed away by the overwhelming relief that his plan worked, that they will have the money. 

Now, he will just need to endure the next hour or so — he’s good at that. He endured the pain of being burned, of being banished, of being ridiculed again and again. Here at least, they don’t have an audience.

Zhao moves his hands to rest on Zuko's hips as his kisses trail down, from the prince's lips, along his jaw and onto the side of his neck where the commander starts nipping at the delicate skin and lapping over the bites with his tongue. 

Zuko moves his head to the side, surprised by the gentleness with which Zhao touches him. He expected to be thrown onto the bed and taken right there right now. 

This… this is almost pleasant and Zuko has no idea what to do with this fact. Somehow it makes the act even worse.

He closes his eyes and tangles one of his hands in Zhao's sash. The other slips from its place on the front of the armor to rest on Zhao's back. 

"That's it, my prince," Zhao purrs, hot breath ghosting over tender skin. He presses into Zuko, making him take a few steps back until his back hits the door. Zuko gasps, surprised at the clang of armor hitting metal and Zhao thrusts his thigh forwards, between Zuko's legs and presses slightly. The pressure makes a timid, fleeting pleasure slowly pool in Zuko's groin. He gasps again, but his lips are quickly covered by Zhao's who drinks the small noises. Zuko's nails scrape against his armor, while his mind screams at him to wrench away from Zhao. 

It's weird and nothing like he expected. Zhao does not make sense and that scares Zuko. He's not volatile, he's almost gentle. It is _confusing_. He turns his head away when Zhao stops the kiss to draw in a breath, the man chuckles lowly and nips at Zuko’s undamaged ear. 

“Your first kiss perhaps?” He murmurs and Zuko scoffs derisively. 

“You wish!” 

“I do, indeed” Zhao hums before he captures Zuko’s lips in a much more bruising kiss. A probing tongue slips in and the banished prince battles for dominance. Zhao hums again a deep rumbling almost sound, a pleased one. His hands wander down to grasp at Zuko's bottom. They knead the muscles and press the boy down onto Zhao's leg, prompting him to start rutting against the general's thigh. Zuko braces himself against Zhao's shoulders to stop the movement.

The man hisses an irritated curse against Zuko's lips before he bites his lower lip, hard enough to make the boy try and jerk away but not enough to break the skin. His hands start undoing the buckles keeping Zuko’s armor in place. Deft fingers have no problem in sneaking under the metal but struggle with the tight knots. Zhao growls into the kiss as his blunt fingernails undo the fastenings. Zuko can clearly feel how the breastplates become loose and the feeling makes it all that much real. The more Zhao sheds of Zuko’s armor, the more the situation sinks in. 

Rough fingers find their way under Zuko’s shirt when the last piece of metal hits the floor and the boy shudders at the unfamiliar feeling. Zhao traces small circles with his thumbs over Zuko’s hipbones before he moves the fight-weathered palms up the boy’s back to scrape lightly under his shoulder blades with his nails. Another shudder runs down his spine. 

“Wait, get rid of your armor,” the boy hisses when the metal digs into his body. The hardness of the metal against the skin, protected only by cloth, makes his hackles rise.

“You won’t help me?” Zhao grabs Zuko’s arms and puts them on his shoulders where the two parts of his armor meet. Zuko glowers at the man. Zhao just looks amused. He snarls in that smug face while his fingers sneak around Zhao’s arm to undo the spirit damned fastenings. Zuko’s moves are jerky and have nothing of the finesse with which Zhao started his own ministrations. The man is grinning at the boy. The metal pieces hit the floor with a satisfying clatter and Zuko hopes the impact left them with enough scratches Zhao will remember to never test his prince. 

“I will interpret it as a hurry, not pettiness,” The man frowns at Zuko, who smiles sweetly at him. The arm guards are taken off with more care and by Zhao himself, who steps away from Zuko, looks around his quarters, and stares at his desk for a moment. Then his gaze slides back to Zuko who still braces his back against the door. The boy bristles at the calculating look. Zhao looks amused by the posturing and, to further irritate him, nods towards the desk.

“And here I thought you could hold up the mood,” the boy snorts as he stomps towards the desk and plants his butt on it, Zhao hisses out a strained ‘brat’ when Zuko’s royal rump crinkles the papers laid out there. At the gleam of triumph in the golden eyes, the man immediately schools his features.

“Oh? Never thought you wanted any special treatment.” Zhao hums while putting his armor into a more arranged pile shoved to the side of the door rather than in front and moves back towards Zuko. He eyes the papers peeking from under the boy’s thighs. Zuko wiggles to make himself more comfortable. 

Zhao pins his thighs with his hands and fits himself between Zuko legs, now, without the barrier that was armor, the boy can feel the heat radiating from the body in front of him. The rough hands start slowly kneading his legs and Zuko flexes the muscles in answer. Zhao dips down for another kiss, deep and bruising this time. 

With nothing better to do with his hands, Zuko wraps them around the broad shoulders and Zhao hums appreciatively as he breaks the kiss to once again trail a myriad of them down to Zuko’s neck. Nips and licks intermix and the boy makes himself bare his neck for better access which prompts the man to step even closer. His hands travel up, from Zuko’s thighs towards his hipbones, and once again sneak under the shirt. Zuko huffs at the feeling of rough palms sliding over his belly. 

“Arms up, my prince,” is all the warning before Zhao takes off Zuko’s shirt in one fluid motion, but instead of pulling it all the way, he tangles the material around Zuko’s arms still in the sleeves and bends his arms backward, trapped by the shirt. Zuko buckles and growls, tries for a headbutt but Zhao moves out of the way, hand gripping the material bunched up and too tight for Zuko to free himself. 

“Easy there,” Zhao huffs and tugs at the makeshift shackles so Zuko leans backward. The man looks at his tense abs and licks his lips appreciatively. 

“You’ve grown quite well.” Zhao leans down, almost kneels between Zuko’s legs, to lick a strip across the tense muscles. The boy hisses when Zhao travels up his front and zeroes on his nipple. 

The feeling is unfamiliar, and Zuko squirms as the man starts lapping at the quickly hardening bud, his unoccupied hand finally sneaks around Zuko’s back to help and support his weigh, and the boy buckles when teeth graze the sensitive skin. 

“Fuck!” He arches his back and tightens his thighs around the bulk of the man, who hums around his nipple. Zuko wriggles, the beard scrapes over his skin but Zhao makes sure he’s not moving too much. Zuko glares at him and tries to hit the man with the heel of his boot. Zhao stops his ministrations to glare back.

“Behave,” the commander growls and stands up to press Zuko bodily down onto the desk. He leans over him and bites the soft skin where Zuko’s neck connects with his shoulder. The boy gasps, curses, and tries for another kick but the wriggling only causes his crotch to brush against a certain hardness that makes his mind freeze. 

Zhao laps at the bite with broad strokes of his tongue while he starts grinding down his hips, his cock hard and hot in contrast to Zuko’s still soft one. The friction is starting to affect him, though and Zuko orders his body not to arch into the movement. 

The man still keeps one hand gripping the shirt turned shackles but his other one moves across Zuko’s flank towards his trousers and starts loosening the strings holding them in place. 

"Hips up," the man orders, hot breath ghosting over Zuko's skin. The boy scrambles to find a footing and finally manages to catch his heels on the grooves of the desk. The shirt shackles finally loosen as the man needs two hands to get rid of Zuko’s pants and the boy is all too happy to shimmy his arms free and chuck the shirt away from them. He barely catches himself on the desk before the commander lifts his hips up. Zhao doesn't need much space between Zuko's butt and the wood before he yanks his trousers down. When they catch on Zuko’s boots, Zhao impatiently loosens the lacing on his left and tugs it off. 

Zuko closes his eyes shut when Zhao moves to untie his loincloth. He shudders when unfamiliar fingers brush his private parts. The murmur of heavy fabric when Zhao’s hands leave him is enough to make the boy imagine the man removing his own pants. Zuko bites the inside of his cheek and tenses all his muscles to not bolt out of the room. He imagines how it could go. One kick to Zhao’s crotch, a knee to his face, and a mad dash towards freedom. He wouldn’t even need to worry about clothing, his men would kill him right after the news that they are poorer than elephant rats. He locks his jaws as the resolve to brave through the sex tries to crumble.

A heavy, rough, and hot hand, that lands on his knee, snaps Zuko back to the present. When Zhao moves back between his legs and bends down to trail open-mouthed kisses down his torso, Zuko can feel the man’s hot member against the inside of his thigh. He shudders and closes his eyes again, flooded with doubt and cold, cold fear. 

It is finally happening and Zuko’s heart hammers against his ribcage so hard, he is sure Zhao can feel the beat against his lips. 

“In the drawer to your right should be stashed a bottle of oil, be a good boy, and reach for it.” Zuko tries to glower at Zhao, but the man at this point can probably taste his fear. The pretense of defiance is all Zuko has, though. 

“Do not order me around,” he tries but the hand that still rests against his knee heats up and Zuko twists his arm to recover the bootle. Zhao looks so smug it rekindles the anger in Zuko’s chest for long enough that, when the man slicks up his fingers and presses them against Zuko’s hole, the fire turns to ice and freezes his lungs. 

The boy throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, and wrangles his mind to focus on something, _anything_ else. He tries to tune out the outside world, the man between his legs, the growing panic, and nauseous rolling of his stomach. Tears well up in Zuko’s eyes but the boy has no more strength to spare to stop them from falling. Zhao’s pleased chuckle just adds to the pain.

* * *

Zuko pulls his pants up, fastens them, and reaches for his discarded shirt. Every move makes him wince, his legs are shaking as well as his hands. Zuko doesn’t look up to see Zhao prepare the document, he hears the man do it and it’s enough. His head is empty of all thoughts, it feels like it’s been filled with cotton. The boy ties his shoe as tightly as possible but he barely registers the pressure. It makes him even more upset. He looks at the armor scattered next to the door. The cool metal is heavy in his hands, heavy and useless. The boy feels sobs crowding behind his teeth. A shuddering inhale and he starts clumsily fastening the breastplate in place. The weigh makes his ribcage collapse. 

“Here, take it to the nearest counting room.” Zhao waves the paper in his direction and Zuko needs a moment to move closer to the man. He still avoids looking at the commander. The man is sure to look like a particularly proud predator, who just scored the kill of his life. Zuko’s stomach rolls with nausea. His head pounds to the rhythm of his heart. He makes sure to grab the document by the corner furthest away from Zhao’s fingers. The man smirks. Zuko grits his teeth and finally establishes eye contact, his insides freeze and collapse under Zhao's steady and satisfied gaze but Zuko refuses to let the man take away everything from him. Straightening his back feels like a straightening bent iron rod. His limbs are both lead-heavy and weak as if made from rice paper. 

His retreat feels like a belated escape. The low chuckle follows him to the door and burns just like the hand of his father did. 

Zuko doesn’t remember the walk back to his ship. When he blinks again, he is standing at the deck of Luan. The sky is still blue, the noise coming from the port is still lively, the hum of the waves is steady. The world is not falling apart even if Zuko feels like crumbling to dust. The boy can’t recall the last time he felt so small. 

There’s noone there and Zuko thanks the spirits for that. Even his Uncle is nowhere to be seen and Zuko almost sobs right there right now, he has no idea how he would survive facing him now. 

The boy moves towards lieutenant Jee’s quarters and sends a small prayer to any willing spirit that the man is here. 

Three knocks at the metal door and he can hear shuffling on the other side, a wave of relief washes over him. Zuko feels as if he could break at any moment now. 

_Just a bit longer._

“Yes?” Jee’s face twists into shock and something akin to worry when his eyes land on Zuko, the boy puts the last of his power into straightening his back and barking at the man to take the document, exchange it for money and wrangle the crew to start making themselves useful. He thrusts the paper into Jee’s chest, nods at him, and turns to march off, stiff-legged, to his cabin. The corridor feels like it’s closing up on him and Zuko would be running if his legs were any steadier. Jee shouts something after him but the ringing in the boy’s ears drowns it out. 

The last meters to his cabin are blurred by tears streaming down Zuko’s cheeks. When the door closes behind him, the metallic clang is jammed by the keening wail tearing itself from Zuko’s throat. He rips the armor and clothes off himself and claws at his skin where he still can feel Zhao’s touch. 

Alone in his room, done with everything he had to do today, Zuko sobs. His chest feels like it’s being crushed by one of his komodo rhinos. 

Between the gasping cries, he laughs, laughs hysterically because he’d done it. He got the money. He endured the trade (his mind shuts down when he as much as tries to think about what happened). He found a way out of the situation, he should have never found himself in. 

Zuko sobs, and gasps, and laughs. Because it doesn’t feel like a win, he got himself and his crew out of a ghastly situation but the solution burns and crushes him. The last hour he spent with Zhao feels like a poison crawling through his veins and burning him from the inside. 

He refused to give up and now he can’t draw a breath in. 

Zuko feels dirty and broken and exhausted. He wants to go to his Uncle, so the man will make everything all right again but, at the same time, the sole thought of the old, kind man seeing the new low his nephew sunk down to is enough to steal the remaining air from his constricting lungs. The hard metal floor feels so much like the desk, Zuko wants to burn his skin off his body.

He crawls on to his futon and curls into a ball. The day is not over yet but Zuko allows himself the rest of it and the following night to grieve. Just for those few hours. He promises himself to be strong again afterward.

Tomorrow he will once again herd his unwilling crew to do their job and will resume hunting the avatar. He will look his Uncle into the eyes and draw comfort from knowing the man is not starving anymore. He will set his eyes onto the horizon and push today out of his mind. He has a task to fulfill after all. 

He is the crown prince. He will come home and to be able to do so, he needs to be strong.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea has been sitting on my mind for some time now and after a rough evening, I decided to finally sit down and write it down to see where the vague concept of Zuko letting Zhao fuck him in exchange for some help will take me. One evening turned into days (month).  
> While writing it, I couldn't shake off the ire at my language skills. The lack of vocabulary was enough to drive me crazy but was also a realization of where I stand in my "writing career" - I want to get better at writing in both my native language and in English but the only thing I do is write in the latter because that way I will reach a wider audience but it also opens my eyes on how lacking my vocabulary and English level are... that is one frustrating train of thought.  
> At least I'm better at writing lengthier works! That is one thing I'm happy about! This piece is the longest I have ever written! :D  
> Also... writing sex scenes is definitely not my forte, especially if they are of dubious nature and at this point, I laugh every time I remember how much I either stalled or fumbled when it comes to that scene just to give up and largely skip it.


End file.
